


a spoonful of sugar

by gravitee



Category: Sex Education (TV)
Genre: AAAAAAAAAAAA, Attempt at Humor, Baking, Conversations, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gossip, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Maeve Wiley is a Good Friend, Mild Language, Post-Episode: s02e07, [i.e. one reference to a canon event - non-explicit.], aimee can't bake to save her life, and maeve is aware of that, intended as platonic but it's up to interpretation, or rather
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28588146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitee/pseuds/gravitee
Summary: “I think,” Maeve starts slowly, “You say the wrong word on purpose, sometimes. Just to distract people.”———maeve and aimee have a chat. it's not actually that serious.
Relationships: Aimee Gibbs & Maeve Wiley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	a spoonful of sugar

**Author's Note:**

> aimee gibbs and maeve wiley love each other. interpret that how you will
> 
> also i don't know what this is but it is no longer my problem. enjoy :)
> 
> ———
> 
> comments and kudos are appreciated!

Sometimes, the best part of pretending is when you finally get caught.

———

The plan is this: take the bus after school back to Aimee’s place. Or so Aimee tries to convince Maeve.

“C’mon,” Aimee pleads, both her arms loosely curled around Maeve’s elbow. She’s doing that batty-eyelash thing, the one that she’s learnt to weaponise. “I’m all right with the bus now, I am!”

“Aimes…”

Aimee purses her lips, stubborn. “You remember, don’t you? I got on the bus with everyone before. I’m cured!”

Maeve sighs, pressing her lips together. There’s something simultaneously wilted and burning in her chest whenever she thinks about Aimee being assaulted. Like… acid, maybe. Or rocks sitting in her stomach. “It’s not something that can be cured, love,” she reminds the blonde softly. “Remember what the counsellor said?”

“Oh, right.” Aimee blinks a few times. _Bat, bat_ go the eyelashes. “Forgot about that.”

Privately, Maeve doesn’t believe her. She actually thinks Aimee remembers a lot more than she lets on.

Speaking of which: the counselling. A recent endeavour, one that Aimee’s still not too happy about. Just taking a leaflet from the noticeboard required a lot of persuading. And even then, Maeve was the one who grabbed it off the pin. 

But it’s free at the community centre, and it’s their secret, and even if it’s shaky, Aimee smiles whenever Maeve comes to pick her up. So it’s a step forward.

Then Aimee sighs — a long, sagging, wistful sound that doesn’t really seem like it should be able to come from her lungs — and Maeve cracks. Just slightly.

“We could… try?” she offers unsurely, against her better judgement. “Head to the bus stop and see if you’re still okay with it?”

The warm hold on her arm squeezes for a moment before letting go. Aimee frowns. The way she does when she’s thinking hard about something, the way most people don’t expect to see on her.  


Maeve doesn’t like most people, and for good reason.

She watches Aimee nod carefully, blonde curls bobbing with determination. “That’s a good idea. Let’s do that.”

———

They get to the bus stop. They watch the bus arrive.

Aimee’s mouth presses into a thin, flat line. She falls quiet, and turns slightly paler, so Maeve tells the driver they’re waiting for the next one. Raises an eyebrow at him for good measure. _Go on, then._

They watch the bus go. And then they walk back home.

At some point on the way, Aimee’s hand slips into Maeve’s. They both hold on tight, and there’s not a word more to be said about it.

———

Pretending, though. Maeve gets the idea in Aimee’s kitchen, sitting at the counter and watching her friend bake. There’s Eastenders playing on the telly in the living room, and air coming in from the window smells like fabric softener, the posh kind. 

“Aimes.”

“Hm?” Aimee looks up from her mixing bowl, blinking at Maeve and batting her eyelashes delicately.

She’s not. Delicate, that is. But she has nice eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Because Aimee likes gossip almost as much as she likes baking. She’s much better at it too, but that’s besides the point.

“Ooh, yes, please.” The blonde keeps the mixing bowl aside, leaning forward without dusting the flour off her cheek. At this distance, Maeve can smell her perfume, mixed with whatever died and went rancid in the cake batter. 

It’s not… pleasant, necessarily, so when Maeve feels something fluttering in her stomach, she blames it on the fumes.

Aimee’s face turns solemn. “But if it’s about Lizzie P’s little collection in the bio lab, I’ve promised not to tell.”

Maeve hesitates. She squints, confused and thrown off for a second. Aimee has a way of doing that.

“What… collection?” She doesn’t know who this Lizzie P _is_ , but that’s also besides the point.

Aimee sighs. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. But everyone _swears_ she’s got a bit of hair from all her ex-boyfriends. Nabbed it from the gym showers or their bedrooms or whatever. She keeps ‘em under one of the sinks.”

Maeve frowns, unsurprised but mildly interested. And faintly disgusted. “Who’s ‘everyone’?”

“You know.” Aimee looks at Maeve like— well, not like she’s _stupid_ , but like the answer’s a bit obvious. It’s familiar. _“Everyone.”_

“Right. Obviously.” Maeve wrinkles her nose. “Lizzie P doesn’t sound too bright.”

“No,” Aimee agrees sagely. “She isn’t.”

They grin at each other, like clockwork. 

“What did she do that for, then?” Maeve asks. “The… hair collection.” Just saying it leaves a weird feeling in her mouth.

“She thinks it’ll work some magic on them, or something. Like a Weezer board. Except they’re not dead.” Aimee frowns. “I hope.”

“You mean Ouija board—”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Maeve purses her lips to keep from giggling. And that, of all things, is what brings her back to the original train of thought. Driven to distraction today. 

“So, um, what I wanted to tell you earlier—”

“Oh! Yeah, go on, what was it?”

Ah. Well. 

“It’s just,” Maeve starts slowly, “Sometimes, I think you say the wrong word on purpose. Just to distract people.”

Aimee stares at her. Blinks once, twice. 

It’s amazing. How Maeve has never had any trouble sizing up anyone’s intentions her whole life — even though people are shit enough to keep surprising her, one way or another — but whatever’s going on in Aimee G’s head is still such a fucking mystery.

Aimee frowns. Sticks her bottom lip out in a pout; not the way she does when she’s disappointed, but when she’s thinking. _Really_ thinking. It’s one of the reasons Maeve thinks that calling Aimee stupid is, in and of itself, one of the most stupid things a person could do.

Her lipstick is a cherry-reddish-pink, and it doesn’t smudge on her teeth.

“Well,” Aimee says thoughtfully, waving her wooden spoon at Maeve and splattering some batter on the counter. “I can neither confirm nor divide that statement.”

A pause. 

Then it makes Maeve _laugh;_ a proper, loud laugh that takes them both by surprise. It’s the best thing that Aimee’s ever heard in her kitchen. In her house. She’s quite pleased with herself for making it happen, actually, especially since she didn’t know it was that funny.

The spoon is pointed back in Maeve’s face, with a hopeful lift of Aimee’s eyebrows. “Try some? It’s missing something, but I don’t know what.”

Maeve looks at the spoon. Then looks at Aimee, bright-eyed and pink-lipsticked, offering her what might be the most inedible sludge to grace the Earth since that batch of cupcakes she made last week.

Not knowing whether to smile or sigh, Maeve dips a finger onto the spoon and sticks it in her mouth. 

“Well? What do you think?”

A beat. Maybe two; silent, because the clock next to the fridge doesn’t tick, still stuck at quarter-past nine for the past three days.

Aimee holds her breath, watching Maeve swallow carefully. Her face is tight, a little pinched at the corners.

The brunette nods. Sniffs once, and looks at Aimee with a raised brow. “Could do with some sugar,” she says calmly.

With a heavy sigh of relief, Aimee breaks out into a smile. “Had me worried for a bit, there,” she jokes, before turning around to fetch the sugar from the shelf.

Behind her back, Maeve leans over to spit into the bin as quietly as possible. Smacks her lips a few times, trying to rid herself of the taste. There’s no one way to describe what’s wrong with it, really. But whatever Aimee’s managed to mix in that bloody bowl has Maeve’s instincts screaming _Do Not Eat That._ She grimaces.

“Could you pass me a cup? I could do with some water.”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Aimee’s reaching up on her tiptoes to reach the sugar, stretching one arm up with tremendous effort and flailing the other to the right. “It’s over there.”

Maeve looks in the general radius of ‘over there’, seeing about four different cupboards to look in. Checks the taste in her mouth before deciding that she can deal with the aftertaste for a bit.

Then she gets up to help Aimee reach for the sugar. She’s taller, after all.

———

Sometimes, the best part of pretending is when you finally get caught. And sometimes it’s just handy to have a bin nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> would probably die for these two
> 
> ———
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are appreciated!


End file.
